


Echo

by TheBlackMagister



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe- No Supernatural, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Good Lucifer, Half-Sibling Incest, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Incest, Incest, Lucifer (Supernatural) Has Issues, M/M, Mpreg, Murder, Nightmares, Past Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Past Child Abuse, Past Incest, Past Lucifer/Michael (Supernatural), Past Murder, Past Underage Sex, Past Violence, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Tags May Change, Underage Drinking, Writer Chuck, Young Lucifer
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-27
Updated: 2017-04-23
Packaged: 2018-10-22 19:25:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10703541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBlackMagister/pseuds/TheBlackMagister
Summary: Chuck Shurley, 36, is just a regular writer looking for a little peace from his cult following. He settles in the middle of nowhere, figuring it's a better place than any.Enter Lucifer M. Star, the supposed psychopathic second son of the esteemed Mr. Godwin, and he's in dire need of help. And as it turns out - maybe he's not so psychopathic after all.





	Echo

**Author's Note:**

> WHY DO I HAVE NO SELF CONTROL? WE MAY NEVER KNOW  
> also this may not get updated as often as others ?? ive got like 5 different fics other than this and mission and the new one im workin on, and my interest fluctuates from day to day on what i wanna work on. so w h o o p s

Chuck’s been living in Nowheresville, Jack-Ass-Country, for about six months.

At the time he’d figured a little backwoods town would be perfect for a 36-year-old writer with a cult following of crazy people. He hadn’t wanted to be found – and where better to hide out than a place nobody’s ever heard of? A town of barely 200 seemed like Heaven.

Unfortunately, this new place seems to consist of nothing but drama. He’s not sure what he’d expected: in a town where everybody knows everybody, there’s no secrets, and since most people are inherently awful there’s a lot of drama to go around, even in such a small place. Still, he gets a job at the library and makes a couple of friends and otherwise stays normal but off the radar. He’s not willing to become the next target for these assholes. He’s not big on rumors; never has been. He’d much prefer to actually meet somebody and then form his opinion, rather than taking the word of others.

So on a Thursday morning like every single one before it – and like every other day of every other month – he gets up and pisses and showers. Then he makes coffee. His routine only changes after he’s poured himself a glass, thanks to a pounding on his door and somebody laying heavily on his doorbell. He groans and grumbles his way through his house – not quite lived-in the way he would like – and opens the door without bothering to put on pants.

It’s Dean. Great.

“What.” He mumbles, taking a sip from his coffee and squinting at the early morning sun. The Winchesters, while good friends, are a little nuts. Just like everybody else in this God forsaken town, Chuck figures. Dean grins lazily at him.

“Did we wake you?”

“Might as well have,” He grumbles, running a hand through his messy, curly hair. “How long have you even been up, it’s barely six.”

“You know Sam and me,” Dean says, which is pretty much the only explanation Chuck needs. “Anyway. We’re throwing you a party tonight and you can’t say no, since we already went and rented out the bar.”

“What?” Chuck frowns, rubbing at his eyes. “What the hell for?”

“Six months you’ve been here. You’re the first new guy in.. you know, ever, practically, so we thought we’d celebrate the fact you haven’t freaked out and left yet.”

“Still debating on that last bit.” Chuck offers an exhausted smile, holding back a yawn. “Yeah, sure. Okay. I’ll go.”

“Great. 10 o’clock. You know where the only bar we go to is.”

And with that Dean steps off of Chuck’s porch and saunters back to the car where Sam’s waiting. Chuck sighs and rubs at his eyes, watching their car peel out of the driveway back down the road. If he didn’t know any better he’d swear those two were lovers, not brothers.

Actually, he’s not sure about that.

A little disturbed by this, he returns inside and shuts the door. His head’s beginning to ache, and mentally he groans. No – not a migraine, not now. He’s prone to them and he knows it, but he’s already promised to go to the party, too. So he downs a few aspirin, and after a moment of consideration knocks out on the couch. Not like today’s going to be very productive, anyhow.

He manages to sleep until 9:30, somehow. When he catches sight of the time on the clock hanging above his old TV he swears, jumps up and rushes around to put actual clothes on: one of his few clean t-shirts (he needs to get on laundry when he gets home) and jeans. Briefly he freezes, considering if Big Boss Godwin would show up – but that guy never goes anywhere, just sends his sons to do his work. And while Michael might be all fancy or whatever (it’s a bar, Chuck doesn’t get being _fancy_ at a _bar_ ), he knows for certain the young one, Gabriel, won’t be. The third, Raphael, Chuck’s never met; and the fourth..

Well. Chuck’s heard some awful things about Godwin’s misfit second child. And seeing as how nobody’s seen the guy in about seven or eight months, they’re left to assume he probably skipped town as soon as he could get away. And despite everybody’s insistence that all of the rumors are true, Chuck can’t help but to feel that maybe that’s not quite right. Nobody could be _that_ bad, at least not without reason. Right?

Chuck manages to make it to the bar by ten, somehow, miraculously. Dean waves him over to the group milling about. Mentally Chuck makes note of all the people; Sam, Dean, Dean’s nearly-boyfriend Castiel (nobody’s really sure where he’s from; apparently he’d just blown into town one day as a child and had been taken in by Michael), Sam’s girlfriend; the three Godwin brothers; Balthazar Rowles – now there’s a guy who can party; Crowley – who’s.. everybody says that’s not his real name, but Chuck’s never heard any other name; Charlie and her girlfriend..

Maybe not a huge turnout, but it warms Chuck’s heart all the same.

“Glad you could turn up.” Sam comments beside him. He jumps involuntarily, turning to the younger Winchester.

“Yeah,” He says, coughing to pretend he hadn’t done that. “Actually, I almost overslept.”

“Man, you sleep more than anybody I’ve ever met.” Sam grins at him, slinging an arm around his shoulders. Chuck shrugs.

“We writers are fucked up, you know.”

“I know, but still.” Sam just inclines his head. “Come on. Drink with us. I know you’re not a lightweight, Shurley, I’ve seen your desk.”

Chuck grins sheepishly. “Yeah, yeah. Fine. Only a few, though, I don’t wanna get shitfaced.”

Not that that goes over well. By the time midnight rolls around he’s probably just a little too drunk – well, or a lot, maybe? – but then so is everybody else. Sam and his girlfriend are nowhere to be found, and Chuck can only imagine what they’re up to; and Dean, well. Dean’s got Castiel pushed up against a wall in the far corner of the bar, and they look pretty into it. The Godwin brothers have left, Chuck’s pretty sure he saw them leave half an hour ago. He’s.. maybe not drunk, but buzzed. Content and warm and fuzzy. Or maybe he is drunk, he thinks as he stumbles when he stands. The room spins momentarily and he leans on the bar, staring up at the ceiling until the nauseous feeling passes. Then – slowly, cautiously, because he’s not entirely sure he can stay upright – he heads for the door, nearly falls out of it. It’s probably good he didn’t need to drive, because there’s no way he’d be getting home. He’d just have to sleep in the alley or.. something.

It takes about ten minutes to walk the five minute walk home, mostly because every few feet he has to stop to make sure he’s going the right way. By the time he makes it home the cool November air has started to sober him up, and in its place is a buzzing headache. So, naturally, when he gets inside, he shuts the door and immediately sheds his jeans and shirt. He shuffles into the kitchen, grabs a glass and fills it with water. He’s not entirely sure whether he’ll drink it before or after he passes out, but it’s a good precaution to have it.

Or.. so he’s been told.

He sets the glass down on his coffee table and sits heavily on the couch, rubbing exhaustedly at his eyes. Distantly he can hear rain pick up, pounding on his roof, and he’s grateful he managed to get home before the downpour. He flips on the TV, leans his elbow on his knee and his head on his hand; and slowly he begins to slip into sleep.

Unfortunately knocking on his door wakes him up. He’s been dozing for.. oh, jeez, about 45 minutes. He should probably go to bed. Then whoever’s outside knocks again, a little more insistently. Chuck exhales and stands, a little unsteady on his feet. If it’s the fucking Winchesters he’s going to.. well, keel over and die, probably. Momentarily he contemplates putting his pants on, but then decides it’s not worth the effort and goes to answer the door instead.

It’s not the Winchesters. Suddenly Chuck wishes it was. He recognizes the kid from old pictures Michael had shown him, way back when. He even still looks the same.

Lucifer.


End file.
